Juxtapose
by RadeliaPotter
Summary: NEW CHAPTER! AU post-Hogwarts HarryDraco Bad things happen and that’s just the way it is. It was meant to happen. But, compare and contrast your life to another’s and you might find something worth looking into.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** I'll say this once and only once, I own nothing related to Harry Potter.  JKR is a goddess. 

**Summary**: AU post-Hogwarts Harry/Draco Bad things happen and that's just the way it is.  It was meant to happen.  But, compare and contrast your life to another's and you might find something worth looking into. 

**Author's notes:** Before we begin, let me just make sure that you all know that it is in fact slash.  It won't be apparent at first, but my intentions are to get Harry and Draco together.  If you don't like it, leave. 

Second, this story is wholly AU post-OotP.  Voldemort went after the Longbottoms, not the Potters.  James and Lily are alive, though who knows how much we'll actually see of them due to plot reasons.  I don't want to go too much into what's different at the moment, so if you have questions, then ask me!  I won't bite.  I'll answer provided the answers don't ruin the plot.  Savvy?  ^_^ 

And last but not least, thank you to my betas, Dea Liberty and Oui_je_danse 

**Juxtapose**

_Part One - That's Life_

~~~~~

He was a baby. The warm arms that held his body tight, the gentle sway of their bodies, the light hum of a lullaby, and the gentle pressure of lips to his forehead, all told him this. 

It was a woman holding him. Of this, he was sure. He could tell by the softness of her body, the gentle scent of her perfume, and by the sound of her voice. When he sleepily opened his eyes, she was smiling down at him, and he felt a happy giggle escape his throat. He found he especially liked her bright, warm green eyes, and her long auburn hair. 

"Now, now, Harry, love, you're supposed to be going to sleep. I can tell the little monster in you is tired."

Harry felt himself smile and could not restrain the urge to grab her nose. "Mummy," he cooed happily. 

A door behind them flew open and crashed against the wall. Harry felt the world spin around and when it came to a standstill, he saw a man. Excitement bubbled up in Harry's chest and he squirmed in his mother's arms. "Daddy!" he cried, holding out his arms. 

"Lily, you're not going to _believe_ what I found!" Harry heard his daddy exclaim as he hugged Harry to him. Harry liked how his daddy smelled just as much as he liked how his mummy smelled, so Harry stuck his nose against his cheek. Daddy smelled like the outdoors and sometimes, he smelled like an animal. Harry especially liked his daddy when he brought the big doggy, the deer, and the rat home. Harry would remember how he loved to laugh and laugh as the animals played together, and how his mummy would stand in the doorway, yelling at them to get out of the house. 

Harry would only laugh more, especially when Paddy put his cold nose in Harry's armpit. 

"If you've brought another niffler in to destroy our home again, James, you can bring it straight back."

"No! Lily, I told you about the amulet that my father hid. I found it!"

Harry heard his mummy gasp before he was smothered in-between his most favourite people. Harry watched as his daddy kissed his mummy. "You have to wear it, Lily. It has to be in plain sight."

"Yes, of course."

Then, the scene was fading, and suddenly Harry was outside. 

The sun was out and there were no clouds, but it was a chilly day. A fierce wind whipped around Harry, sending his cloak billowing to the right. He tried to get it around his shoulders, but his small fingers could not grasp it. The wind was blowing through his shirt and was in his eyes, which were starting to tear. Harry whimpered in frustration, but suddenly, gentle hands took his wayward cloak and wrapped it around him. 

"Hold on tight to that, lad."

Harry did not have to look up to know that it was Sirius. Sirius had been insistent that morning about coming along with James and Harry. Harry was not sure why they were here, but he knew that it had to do with some sort of amulet and the necklace his mum wore all the time. 

Harry's mum and dad, and many other people he knew and loved often told him what a smart boy he was. But, lately, Harry did not feel so smart. He wondered why the adults were so secretive lately, and why they spoke in hushed voices, even if they were telling Harry to eat his peas. He wondered what the amulet had to do with anything, and why the amulet had stopped him from having a birthday party a few months back. 

Even now, the sore of that disappointment was raw. Harry remembered being told by his mum that he was not allowed to have his party. Harry had cried out that he was turning five, and tried to make his mum understand how _important_ that was. His mum had not relented, so Harry cried some more. 

Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder as they both watched James, and Harry tried not to let himself cry at the memory of his cancelled birthday party. It was not that he was a spoiled boy. If somebody told him that he was he would pout at them that he was _not_ like his ugly cousin, Dudley. And he wasn't. His dad made sure of that. His fifth birthday was going to be special though. It would have been his first birthday party with his new friends from school. 

Harry's dad finished filling the hole he had dug and turned to look at them. James smiled triumphantly. "Nobody will ever find it now, boys!" he exclaimed. "Our problem is over, thanks to the genius of Mr. Padfoot!"

Sirius gave a small, courteous bow, and Harry looked up at him in silent admiration. His father was always telling Harry of Sirius's genius, and Harry hoped to be just like him someday, but he would never tell his dad that. James picked Harry up and they began walking down the hill, back to the modest car Lily had insisted on buying the previous year. 

There was a track of dirt on James's cheek and it reminded Harry of how good his father was at Quidditch. Harry traced the bit of dirt with his index finger, and thought about how good his dad was at making his owies better, and how he told stories, and how he made him laugh, and what a good dad he was. And Harry thought, if a person could be good at all those things, he must be pretty smart, too. Harry looked from one man to the other. In fact, Harry thought, his daddy must be ten bazillion times smarter than Sirius. As James was settling Harry into the backseat of the car, Harry grabbed his hand. 

"I changed my mind, daddy. I want to be just like you when I grow up."

James gave him a quirky grin. "You changed your mind? Who did you want to be like before?"

Harry faltered, because he had promised himself never to tell his dad that. But he thought on it and decided that it was okay now that he wanted to be like his daddy, and not Sirius. He stuck his nose up in the air and looked his dad straight in the eye. "I wanted to be like Sirius, but I decided just now that you're a lot smarter than him," he stated matter of fact. "Plus, you're really really good at Quidditch."

Harry watched as his dad threw his head back in a laugh and hit it on the edge of the car, but he only ducked out and continued laughing. 

Sirius was pouting from the front seat as he looked back at Harry. "Are you sure, Harry? Really sure? Because, I can prove how much smarter I am than your dad."

Harry shook his head, because he was positive now that his daddy was smarter than Sirius, even if he did do stupid things like trampling through the house as a stag just to get his mum angry. 

And as Harry was vigorously shaking his head no, the scene faded out. 

When colours and shapes were discernible once again, Harry found that he wished he could go back to that autumn day with his father and godfather. The walls around him were a rough stone and a bleak grey in colour. There were bloodstains on the back wall, but from what, Harry did not want to know. 

Harry briefly wondered which memory he was falling into now, when a piercing shriek from above snapped him back to reality. He realised then that this was no memory. This was his reality. 

And oh, how he hated it. 

His sob of despair was drowned out by a whip cracking and another piercing shriek. He knew that the guard would be making his rounds soon, but he could not bring himself to care. The energy had been sapped from him long ago, so he could no longer throw himself at his cell door, and shriek at the guards. The back of his throat was still sore from his last screaming fit, but he tried to ignore it. His daily rationing of water, soup, and a moulding piece of bread would not be coming for another twelve hours after all. He would have to endure the scratchiness of his throat. 

Harry buried his face in his arms and shook. There was a constant draft blowing through the fortress, and it made Harry remember the day on the hill constantly. He was just about to slip back into that particular memory when the door to his cell creaked open. He did not look up, even though this rarely happened. 

"Look alive, Potter," snapped an ugly, gravely voice. "It's your birthday and we're here to give you a present."

Harry did look up then and glared at the Head Guard. He was a nasty man with yellowed teeth and scraggly hair. He was baring his teeth now, malevolently, and he held a whip in his hands. "Normally, we know that it's tradition to give spankings to the birthday boy or girl, but we thought it fit to use the whip. So, let's see… you're twenty-three today. How about twenty-five? Seems fair enough."

Two guards from behind came and dragged Harry off of the floor. They clapped chains around his wrist and lifted his shirt up. Without warning, the whip cracked across his back and he bit his lip to keep from screaming. However, a whimper escaped unbidden. The guards laughed mirthfully. 

Harry hung his head, feeling all the hope he had ever possessed drain from him. Still, the whipping went on, and by the time it was over, Harry just wanted to die. The guards unchained him and he fell to the floor, bloody and broken. 

***

It was a cold, mirthless laugh and the unrelenting pounding of computer keys, which filled the emptiness of the small, dingy flat. The sounds echoed off the colourless walls, bouncing back at the man making them. 

He was sitting in a room with one dilapidated, brown couch, a small desk that held his computer, and an uncomfortable looking wooden chair for him to sit. There were no other signs that somebody even lived there, except for the occasional half-used candlestick on the floor or desk. 

There had been better days, he remembered bitterly, pushing back his chair to walk to the grimy window. Days of his childhood, playing and running around a large manor house and servants ready to kiss his feet if he so asked. His childhood gave way to adolescence and boarding school. There had been friends, girlfriends, lovers, even a boyfriend. And he had been happy then. 

It was a dreary day out, he noted absently as he purposefully pushed the memories away for another time. There had been storm clouds brewing for most of the afternoon, and the sun had flirted with the clouds, never quite going behind them as though it was unwilling to stop showing itself to the people below. It was as though the sun knew what sort of mood he was in today, and did not want to oblige him by hiding its cheerful face. 

"Nothing can stay happy forever," he murmured, and he laughed bitterly as the sun relented and finally slid behind the dark storm clouds. 

His eyes slid down to the street as the shadows disappeared and it became noticeably darker. Children who had been laughing and playing only moments before were called in by their parents as the sky rumbled angrily. He watched them scatter with detached amusement. As the last door slammed, the sky gave an angry clap and suddenly, rain was pouring down. 

It had not rained in days, which was odd for the time of year, and people in the shops he frequented wondered when it would rain again. 

He wondered if they were now asking when the rain would stop. 

Movement caught his eye in the middle of the street, and he saw a rogue child there, spinning in the rain. She was laughing and her hair was in thick, wet strands around her head. She could have been no older than six. He wondered why there was nobody around to scold her for being out in the rain. 

Without knowing why, he was suddenly hurrying out the door and out to the street. He walked from beneath the awning that shielded the front walk of his building from the elements, and felt the cold, unforgiving rain pelt down on him. He thought vacantly that if he were to take off his shirt, it would most certainly feel like thousands of cold, wet whips, lashing out at his skin. 

The girl was still spinning as he approached her. "Where are your parents?" he called out above the din of the storm and distant cars, and the sound of the city. She stopped spinning so abruptly that she nearly fell backwards before he caught her arm. 

She stared up at him, squinting through the rain. "You live in the flat above me," she said to him, and he wondered how she knew this, when he had never seen her before. 

"Where are your parents?" he asked again, running a hand through his soaking hair. He finally wondered why he had come out here. 

"Inside. They don't know I came out here. They don't like it when I spin in the rain, but they don't _understand_!"

"They don't understand what?"

"They don't understand that it's _freedom_! That if I weren't in the middle of a London street, I would take my clothes off and dance in the rain forever! That it would feel like cold kisses to skin that's been in the fire for far too long."

"How old are you?" he asked. 

"I'm nine. How old are you?"

"Younger than I feel." He studied the girl, wondering how she could look so much younger than she was, but seem so much smarter than her age suggested she should be. He suddenly felt he did not have twenty-three years of knowledge behind him "You don't seem like you're nine," he commented. 

"You're right. I'm younger than I feel." And she grinned up at him, and spread her arms wide. She turned her head up to the sky and opened her mouth to catch the rain on her tongue. He watched as she began spinning again. "Spin with me!" she cried. 

"I'm not a child."

"Neither am I!"

He watched her for a few minutes and suddenly felt himself smile. It did not happen so much anymore, and it startled him into a frown. It suddenly seemed imperative to tell this girl his name. "My name is Draco Malfoy!" he shouted as lightning cracked loudly overhead. 

She never stopped spinning. "Skye Peterson!"

"I've never told anybody around here my real name."

Skye stopped spinning, and she pushed her soaking hair from her face. "You should," she said, her large grin fading. "It's unique. Aren't you proud of it?"

But, Draco never got to answer, because the door to their building flew open and a woman with curly black hair came storming from it. Her eyes were wild, and Draco thought that she might be drunk. "Skye, how many times have I told you not to play in the rain? Get your arse back in here before I call your father!"

"Coming, mum!" She turned to Draco and rolled her eyes. "They don't understand," she repeated. "The rain is release. The sky cries for people who can't, and it's meant for people to bathe in it – to remember that there are people in pain."

"Skye!"

"See you around, Mr. Malfoy!"

Her mother glared at Draco as Skye ran to her. Draco watched detached as the little girl approached her mother and was smacked across the face. Skye did not flinch. She looked back at Draco and smiled before being pushed back into the building. 

The older woman sent one last glare at Draco for effect before stomping inside after Skye. Draco's mind should have been on the little girl and their conversation. But, all he saw was the black hair of her mother, and the fiery blue eyes, and his mind was falling into a memory. 

Suddenly, a car honked, and lights flashed at him, pulling him from his reverie. He quickly made it to the sidewalk before he was run over, and began walking inside. However, his mind was quickly sliding back into the memory, and he hardly remembered getting back to his flat. The water-stained walls and the musty smell of the hallway faded. He was no longer in his home, but he recognized where he was. 

Draco was in a black carriage. It had the Malfoy family crest on the outside of both doors, and had royal purple curtains blocking the windows. There were candles lit in sconces on either side of the doors, and they were his only light. 

The carriage was pulled by two thestrals, though Draco could not see them. They made for a quicker journey, and his mother had been insistent that he get home from the train station sooner this time. Draco was not looking forward to being home, and it was made worse because he knew that his time at Hogwarts had just ended forever. There was no light at the end of the tunnel this time. He could only imagine what lay ahead of him. 

The road they were riding on was full of potholes and the carriage jolted many times. Draco eyed the candles warily, and was ready for them to jump from their carrier. But, soon, he felt the ride smooth out, and he knew they were on the road that was cared for by the workers of Malfoy Manor. The ride would only take another ten minutes, and then the rest of his life would begin. 

Draco thought that it would start with his personal house elf, Glady, greeting him at the door as usual. Then, his mother or father, or perhaps even both would request his presence at dinner. They would discuss his successful completion of Hogwarts, and what he would do now. 

Oh, Draco knew what he wanted to do, certainly. But, it was not a respected career for a person born into noble blood. No, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would never settle with their only son as an author. He was destined for many great things, and writing was not in the picture. 

When the carriage finally stopped in front of the doors to the manor, the door opened of its own accord, and Draco stepped regally from it. The manor house stood tall and proud above him, and he felt a faint smile grace his lips. There were voices drifting from the front gardens, and Draco thought one to be his mother. He stood motionless as two house elves retrieved his things, and the carriage pulled away. A small circle of hedges came into view, which held a small, but elaborate garden inside. It mostly held narcissus flowers in respect to his mother, but he liked them, and often kept one in his room. 

Suddenly, Draco caught a glimpse of a girl in a simple, white dress, with long, curly black hair run past the opening. She was laughing at something and Draco was pulled to her. He began walking without knowing why, until he found himself inside the garden. There the girl stood, a flower in her hand. She was picking the petals off one by one with a malicious little smile on her face. He approached without her noticing. 

"We have other things around the grounds that would be much more satisfying to destroy," he said, calmly taking the remaining part of the flower. She startled and looked down at him – even though she was shorter – sniffing haughtily. 

"You must be Draco Malfoy," she said. "Your mother has been expecting you all day."

"I'm quite certain you speak the truth. I have never seen you around before. What is your name?"

"Bianca Giovani."

Draco felt his heart skip a beat. "Your father is the Minister of Magic in Italy."

Bianca smiled bitterly. "Yes, he is."

"Forgive me for asking, but, what are you doing here? In Wiltshire?"

Bianca advanced on Draco, pushing her body against his. "Do you like what you see when you look at me, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco felt himself swallow and he cautiously took a step back. He unabashedly studied every curve and line that he could see through the thin dress. Her legs were long and from what he could tell a nice shape. Her hips were wide, but not overly so, while her waist was skinny. He moved his eyes to her breasts, and tried very hard not to lick his lips. They were full and unrestrained by any undergarments. Draco wondered if his hand would be a perfect fit for one of them, or if they would spill over. His trousers were getting decidedly tighter by the second. By the time he reached her face, she was smiling knowingly up at him. It was not a nice smile. 

"Yes, I do," he said honestly, his throat dry. 

She advanced on him again. "Good." She pressed her breasts against his chest and flattened her hand against his growing erection. "I wouldn't want my first lover to be dissatisfied with my body, now would I?"

Bianca looked into his startled face, smirked, and disappeared from the garden. Draco stared after her, his mouth hanging open slightly. He did not notice the arrival of the others. 

"Did what you see, satisfy you, young Mr. Malfoy?" asked a man with a thick Italian accent. 

Draco spun on the spot. Lucius, Narcissa, and what Draco could only assume was Bianca's father stood behind him. He bowed respectfully to him. "Yes, I did, Minister. Very much, indeed."

"Ah! You were correct, my dear friend, Lucius!" the Minister exclaimed. 

"I apologise, but I'm afraid I do not understand," Draco addressed his father. "She's very beautiful. I would never deny that, but why is she being given to me as a lover?"

Lucius and the Minister laughed. "Is that what she said to you?" Lucius asked. "Boy, you are to marry her. She is not a gift, but a wife."

"Marry? But, I do not want to marry yet. I'm not yet eighteen!"

"Draco, darling," Narcissa broke her silence, coming forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, "you are seventeen, and a seventeen year old Malfoy heir at that. You are finished with Hogwarts, and you knew that there would be obligations for you to fulfil. This is but the first. You will be wed to Ms. Giovani come July."

Draco glanced up at his father, who wore a hard look in his eye. He knew he could not argue his way out of this. Come hell or high water, his parents would be sure that he was with a wife before his next birthday. 

"Yes, mother," he acquiesced. "I apologise for seeming ungrateful. She seems to be the perfect bride. I shall be honoured to marry her next month."

With a jolt, he realised that next month was only a few days away. Water seemed to fill his ears as the Minister conversed jovially with Lucius, and something heavy was placed in his stomach. He felt like he was moving through some sort of foam as he made his excuses and retired to his room for the remainder of the evening. 

As he closed his door behind himself, he caught a glimpse of Bianca, and she was smirking. 

***

When Draco pulled himself from the memory, he was cold and wet. There were no lights in his flat except from the screensaver from the computer, so he was glad that he did not have much of anything to obstruct his path to his bedroom. 

The bedroom was as bare as the living room, save for the one large four poster bed and a small wardrobe. There was, of course, a small window in the room, but it was covered in plastic that was meant to keep the cold out in winter. He did not know how to take it off properly, so there it stayed for the entire year. There were blinds behind the plastic that he could not get to, so there never was any light in his bedroom. 

He was shaking from the wet and maybe a little from the memory as well, but he pushed it away along with his wet clothes, and pulled on the first piece of clothing that he found on the floor. It was an old jumper from his days at Hogwarts, and while it should have been too small for him now, it was actually too big. Draco wondered if the concern Joseph was showing toward him, held any bearing. 

The small window in the living room showed that the storm had turned into a gale. The weather now suited his mood, but now he thought he might like to see the sun again. He sat heavily on the worn couch, and cringed when it creaked and groaned unhappily under his weight. He wished for something warm to drink, but knew there was nothing in his cupboards. There had been nothing to eat or drink, but soup, bread, and water, for the past two weeks, and he had already eaten his daily rationing earlier that afternoon. 

Joseph would not be happy when Draco asked for more money the next day for food. 

Draco sighed. The stack of bills by his desk was enough reminder of his situation. He did not need to be willingly reminding himself of what trouble he was in. However, the constant rumble in his stomach would not let him forget. 

He wished he had somebody to talk to. There was Joseph, but they only had monthly meetings for Joseph to see how Draco was holding up. And Draco would be forced to squash his pride to ask for money. The meeting was tomorrow, but Draco wanted somebody to talk to _now_. 

He wished for Bianca. He even wished for Aida. 

Would she even understand? Draco wondered. Would she be old enough to let Draco talk and talk without her interrupting for something she wanted? 

Draco did not care. He wanted Aida back. He wanted to push his nose into her curly blonde locks of hair and smell the sweet shampoo Bianca had favoured for her. He wanted to wipe away her tears, and buy her toys, and make her laugh. He wanted to put her to sleep at night, and hold her close when she had nightmares. 

He wanted his daughter. 

Vivid memories were threatening once again, but he violently pushed them away. He thought of Skye in the flat below him. He wondered if she was in warm clothes, and whether she was being well fed. He wondered if her father was any better than her mother. 

He looked outside to the continuing gale, and thought of the sun flirting with the clouds. He thought of the times in his life when he had been happy. Happiness _did not_ last forever. For anybody. It was a fleeting thing to be grabbed when it was offered. 

And Skye did that. She grabbed it when it was offered. She took a chance when it started raining and left her warm home, just to spin and twirl in the rain. It was her happiness. But, it had ended, just like everything else nice. 

No. Happiness is not forever. Draco was positive. 

He looked around the small, dingy room, and he felt so alone, so out of place, but yet… at home. There had been days of simple pleasures like non-creaking furniture, and expensive wine, and sex in the gardens. There had been Aida, laughing and running through the estate, calling for her daddy to catch her. There had been food. 

There was nothing here, but an old computer, a couch, and a cynical man, who was younger than he felt. And suddenly, he was sure. 

"But, neither can it stay like _this_ forever." 


	2. Salvation Comes In Scratches

**A/N:** First of all, thank you to all my reviewers here and over at FA. The continued support from my 'regulars' really keeps me going. Sorry for the delay. RL has been busy lately and I've not had much time for fandom. I apologize for the inconvenience. Chapter three of Juxtapose is currently in the works and will be up ASAP. 

**Juxtapose**  
_Chapter Two – Salvation Comes in Scratches_

Time passed as time does. But, Harry hardly noticed as he had no sense of it. There were no windows in his cell, and it was perpetual darkness most of the time. When he had first been thrown in the cell, he sometimes thought he would go mad not knowing if it was night or day. 

The guards had purposefully starved him the first few days of his imprisonment, and by the time the door was opened, Harry was so disoriented, that he could not tell. Harry could tell now that the daily meal was brought at sporadic times, possibly to disorient him more. 

The prison was unusually silent in the early hours of the… morning? Afternoon? Evening? Night? Was it even early? Since his birthday whipping, Harry enjoyed counting the time with how long the stinging lasted in his wounds from the last time he moved. 

He liked to count in seconds. And sometimes, if he had enough energy, he turned the seconds to minutes with scratches on the wall. Sometimes he even counted the scratches to pass the time. 

"522 scratches, plus one equals 523 scratches." He sat back to admire his handiwork. "Did you know," he addressed the scratches, "that there are only 403 stones in the walls of this cell? _And_ there are… _was_ 1,186 seconds since my back started stinging, but…" He began laughing. "But… hear this! I… I lost count!"

He threw his head back and laughed. His laughter broke the temporary quiet of the prison. Harry found this immensely funny. 

"I mean, I just _stopped_ counting!"

The laughter ringing in his ears drowned out the screaming. It also drowned out the sound of his door opening. He hardly noticed when a man flipped him onto his back, but the stinging started again. 

Harry gasped as the stone cut into his healing back. Then, he laughed. "I stopped counting!" he cried. "But it doesn't matter!"

"Shh, Harry," soothed a voice. 

"ONE!" The sound echoed. "TWO!"

"Harry, calm down."

Even as he yelled 'three!' he looked up. He thought he might recognise the amber eyes. "FOUR!"

"I'm sorry. (FIVE!) _Stupefy_!"

And then everything went black. 

He could not see anything. There was no light and no colour, and it startled him. He sat up with a gasp and opened his eyes. Suddenly, a bedroom materialized around him. There was a small window in front of him with a dusty, mustard coloured curtain dimming the bright sunlight streaming into the room. 

The pain was almost gone from his body, he noted, as he stumbled from bed. There were only minor aches in his back and head as he frantically pushed the curtain open. 

The sight that met his eyes startled another gasp from him and he stepped back. The floor creaked beneath him. 

"A forest," he murmured disbelievingly. 

"_Oh_!" It was a surprised sound. "And a stream."

It suddenly became imperative for him to go outside. Because, surely if the prison had allowed him this rare glimpse of such beauty, they would certainly allow him outside to _touch_ and _smell_ it. 

There were tears in his eyes when the door opened. "It's so beautiful," he whispered reverently, watching as a fox drank from the stream. "Such freedom."

"You have your freedom now, Harry."

Harry whipped around towards the voice. He let out a breath. "Remus?"

Remus smiled slightly. "Yes, it's me. We heard you moving around up here, so Sirius thought you might like some food. Merlin knows you need it."

Harry was confused. "I… food? Sirius? I… where am I?" He felt his mind working harder than it had in so long. "I… am I free? Was I proven innocent?"

Pain stabbed behind his eyes and he let out a cry of agony. He did not know he had fallen to the ground until Remus picked him up again. 

"Don't strain yourself, Harry. You're still healing."

Harry felt a cool hand against his forehead. "You're burning up. Lie down again."

Events were a blur after that. Harry remembered light touches to his flushed cheeks and forehead. He remembered cool water being poured down his parched throat, and forks full of food being fed to him. 

It was night the next time he woke. Harry could clearly hear the murmur of two voices downstairs as he carefully climbed from bed and walked from the room. 

He vaguely remembered this house as though from a memory of a past life. It was Remus's house, he recalled, and it was set deep in the forest of Wales. Harry's dad used to come here for a few days every month, but Harry never understood why until he was nine. 

"Remus, I didn't know that you're a werewolf," Harry had said. 

Remus, Sirius and James choked on their tea. "Now where would you get an idea like that, Harry?" his father asked. 

"I was reading, dad," Harry rolled his eyes. "I can put two and two together. How come nobody ever told me?" Harry remembered being upset as he watched Remus stand up and begin pacing the room nervously. 

"It's not for a young boy like yourself to know," Remus said quickly. "It's a burden for your father, Sirius, and Peter… well, before he ran off to Merlin knows where." Remus shook his head. "You shouldn't know this, Harry," he looked at Harry then. Harry remembered the worry furrowing his brow and the despair settling into his eyes. Harry wondered what could be so bad as to cause that. "Even your mum wishes she had never figured it out. She would put a memory charm on herself if she knew she wouldn't figure it out again. It's… it's a burden."

Harry folded his arms across his chest petulantly as only a nine year old boy could. He sniffed. "I don't care, Remus. You're like a second godfather to me, or even like an uncle. I always wondered why you weren't an Animagus as well. But, now I know."

"Harry, you have to promise not to say anything," Sirius began. "Above all, you have to stop Flooing here when it's the full moon."

Harry turned angrily to Sirius. "_You_ come here during the full moon! _Dad_ comes here for the full moon!"

"That's different, Harry," James said. 

"How so?"

"We're both an Animagus. Remus can't hurt us when we're in animal form."

"Then teach me how to become one! I want to help him!"

"No, Harry. That's absolutely out of the question. Your mother would never allow it. It's too dangerous running around outside with a werewolf. Besides that, the Animagus transformation is being outlawed."

"Utter rubbish, that," Sirius muttered under his breath. Harry glared at James as James shot Sirius a look. 

"I. Don't. Care. I want to help Remus, Dad."

"Harry, for the last time, I said _no_."

Harry remembered clenching his fists at his sides and his heart rate speeding up. He felt the hair on the top of his head stand on end and the air around them crackle with energy. James stood up and approached Harry cautiously. "Harry, get it under control. I know you're angry, but it's no reason to let your magic get out of control like this. Remember what mum and I taught you?"

"_I don't care_!" Harry screamed. "I just want to help Remus! It's not so much to ask of, father!"

The teacups the adults had been sipping from minutes before rose into the air and began swirling. Harry remembered being too busy staring down James to notice. "Harry, put the cups down," Sirius ordered, staring at the wayward china. 

"I _won't_!" As soon as Harry's voice rose in volume, Remus and Sirius ducked, but James was too late. The teacups burst apart and shards of the china flew at him with alarming speed. Harry remembered his father's cry of pain as they cut into his face and hands with a pang in his heart. As soon as the blood began to flow, Harry realised what he had done, and the shards dropped to the carpet. 

"Dad," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry, dad."

James looked up with pure fury on his bloody face. "Your mother and I have been teaching you to control your magic since you were five, Harry James. We've always known you are the makings of an extraordinary wizard, and we've been preparing you for that. I _know_ you can do better than that. You're very lucky you did no further damage than what you just did."

"Come on, James, lighten up," Sirius said quietly. "Children are allowed to lose their temper once in a while. Come on, I'll heal those cuts in the kitchen."

Harry watched as Sirius led James from the room. James turned back as he was leaving through the door. "Sit down and calm yourself before you do anything. And do not under any circumstances bother Remus about the Animagus matter. It's a closed topic. Understand?"

Resentful, Harry nodded. 

"Good."

"Sit, Harry," Remus ordered when James and Sirius had left. Harry sat heavily with a sigh. "I know it's frustrating for you. When James, Sirius, and Peter first found out about me, it was hard on them too. They wanted to help me just as badly as you do. They wouldn't take no for an answer. There was a way for them to help me and they found it. But, Harry, you have to understand that the consequences for becoming an Animagus are much more severe than they were sixteen or so years ago when they learned how to."

"I know," Harry pouted. "I only wanted to help. I didn't mean to lose my temper like that."

Remus sighed and kneeled in front of him. Harry remembered thinking how he finally understood why Remus looked so much older than his dad and Sirius. "I think that James overreacted a bit to that. But, he is your father and he's extremely proud of you, Harry. He wants you to be the best that you can be. I hope you understand that. I have no doubt that Sirius is in there pounding some sense into him. It's a bit easier to see sense when you're not the biological father." Remus smiled slightly and ruffled Harry's hair. "Although I'll have to admit to being a little blind sighted myself when it comes to you. Sirius is the same. If it were possible, I'd let you do whatever you wanted, including learning to be an Animagus. But, it's not. Do you understand why we can't let this happen, Harry?"

"Yes. But, I'm not happy about it."

"All right, then. That's a good start, I think. Now, why don't you go into the kitchen and apologise to your dad? Throw in some puppy eyes while you're at it, and he'll crack like melting ice."

Harry felt himself grin. "Okay, I'll try my best." But, it seemed important to hug Remus before he left, so he did. "I'm sorry you're a werewolf, Remus."

Remus laughed quietly. "So am I, Harry. Believe me, so am I."

Sirius and James were speaking quietly when Harry gently pushed the swinging door open. James was leaning against the sink and Sirius was dabbing his blood soaked face with a cloth. "He called me father, Sirius," James said quietly. 

"Yes, he certainly did," Sirius agreed. "And we all know that means he currently hates you."

Harry moved his body back through the door, but peered through a crack so as to see them as they spoke. He knew this would not bode well with his dad if he were caught, but what was a boy to do? 

"Yeah thanks, mate."

"It's the truth, James. Sometimes I'm surprised when he calls you 'dad'. It's been 'daddy' for as far as I can remember."

"Oh, it's been 'dad' more often than not now. He's growing up. In less than two years, he'll be off to Hogwarts. He can't go around calling his father 'daddy' in front of his friends. That Ron Weasley already teased him for it a few months ago."

"See? There's your problem. He'd still be calling you 'daddy' if it weren't for that."

Harry watched as Sirius pulled out his wand and began healing the cuts. They were silent as he worked, and Harry heard Remus turning a page of the newspaper in the room behind him. 

"There, good as new," Sirius announced quietly. Harry turned his attention back to them. A different kind of quiet had filled the kitchen. It was tense and Harry was scared to even breathe. Sirius had a hand on James's cheek and they were closer than Harry thought they should be. "No scars… nothing." His thumb ran lightly against his cheek. 

"Sirius, stop it."

Harry wondered why his dad did not pull away from the touch. 

"Stop what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. We've gone over this before, Padfoot. I love Lily."

"I have never denied that you do. It just seems suspicious to me."

"What does?"

"That you don't deny me this. That you don't pull away when I touch you."

Sirius was taller than James, Harry noticed then. He had to bend down to kiss his father's forehead. He had to pull his chin up in order to kiss his lips. And his father had to do nothing, but stand there and moan. 

Harry closed the door quietly and went back into the living room. Remus folded his paper and smiled at him. "Did you tell them you were sorry, then?"

The boy shook his head. "They were busy," he said and sat down to draw. 

When James and Sirius came back into the living room with swollen lips, nobody said anything. But, Harry knew their secret, and he thought that Remus might know something too. 

Presently, Harry found himself standing in the doorway to that very same living room, looking at the place where he had been drawing on the couch some fifteen years ago. The room was empty now, and seemed just a little bit colder without the fire burning. Nothing had changed in its set-up. There were still two couches next to each other in the same corner. There was still one chair, and two small tables, and a fireplace. There was one picture on the wall, and it was of Remus's parents. It was a plain, small room, but Harry liked it all the same. 

He continued down the narrow hall to the swinging kitchen door and tried opening it quietly, but it squeaked from lack of lubrication. The lone occupant of the kitchen turned on his heel and smiled brightly upon Harry's entrance. 

"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed happily. "Merlin, lad, you had me worried. You've been here two weeks and only awake for an hour out of it all. Remus will be glad to see you're awake. You just missed him though. Said he was going shopping for groceries. Should be back soon, though." Sirius studied Harry. Harry hardly noticed Sirius's words or what the object of his intense stare was. Harry was concentrating on how Sirius was leaning against the same spot on the sink that his father had done so many years ago. "You still look peaky, Harry. Do you feel all right?"

"I saw you," he said. 

"Saw me where?"

"In here - in the kitchen with my father."

Sirius looked concerned. "When?"

Harry looked out the window, seemingly unconcerned. It was a starry night out and the moon was at a waxing crescent. An owl hooted off in the distance and Harry could hear a slight wind rustling through the leaves. He smiled slightly. It was such a nice sound. 

"When, Harry?" Sirius repeated. "When did you see James and me in here?"

"When I was nine. It was when I found out what Remus was. You two had come in here to heal dad's face. Remus had a bit of a talk with me and told me to come apologise, so I did. You two were talking about me, so I slipped out, but watched you. When you kissed dad, I left."

"Oh. I… well, it wasn't what it seemed, Harry. Why did you wait so long to say something?"

"I more or less forgot about it until I was fifteen, but I thought about it on occasion. I was confused about why you would want to kiss another man," Harry said, ignoring Sirius. "But, I was going to talk to Professor Flitwick about an essay that was due one day, and I came across Draco Malfoy kissing some Ravenclaw boy in the Charms corridor. I found out later that they were boyfriends. Then, I came to remember that incident with you and dad, and I came to the realisation then, that it must have been some sort of love. And I thought that it must have been amazing, and it _was_. It was amazing to realise that love doesn't know boundaries. Love could be me loving a giantess… or a giant. Love is you loving dad. Love could be Draco Malfoy loving that Ravenclaw boy. Hell, love could be me loving a hag. And love can be dad loving mum, and mum loving dad."

Harry felt himself smile weirdly. "Did you love my dad?"

Sirius shook his head. "Where is this coming from, Harry?"

"I was just remembering that day, and so I told you. Did you love dad?"

Sirius sighed and looked out the window. When he spoke, it was quietly. "I do love your dad, Harry. I _do_."

"You mean you _did_."

"No. I mean that I _do_ love him."

Harry hummed in acknowledgement and sat at the kitchen table. There was a large window and he contented himself with looking out it. The view showed a quaint, but well kept garden with lilies, narcissi, pansies, and daffodils. It was a nice garden, Harry thought, but he wished that he could have helped plant it. He had not had the simple joy of hard earned dirt beneath his fingernails in such a long time. 

He brought his hand to his face and squinted down at it. His glasses had long since been broken, but he had become used to the blurry lines and shapes his eyesight provided him. And he could clearly see that somebody had bathed his hands in the very least, but there was still dirt beneath his nails. It was not the kind of dirt he liked having beneath them. It was dirt from sitting in a gritty cell for far too long. It was dirt from digging out rocks to carve useless scratches on the walls to pass the time. 

Harry wanted the dirt to be from playing Quidditch, or digging a garden, or from building or restoring a house. 

He put his hand down in aggravation and pushed the thoughts aside by looking out the window. Sirius's reflection was in the window, and Harry could see that he was busy making a sandwich and taking backwards glances at Harry. It felt nice but foreign to be in the same room as Sirius, let alone another living person. 

Suddenly, Sirius was walking towards him and placing a plate with a thick sandwich on top in front of Harry. Harry stared down at it as Sirius sat beside him. The food looked good, but he was not sure he could stomach something with so much in it. "I haven't had good bread for… I don't even remember how long, Sirius. How long was I in there?"

"Four years you were locked up."

"What's the date today?"

"August twenty-fifth, 2004."

"So… that means I'm… I turned twenty-four last month?"

"Yes, it does mean that, though I can hardly believe it."

"Me either," Harry murmured. "They told me I was twenty-three last month. So… I just lost a year of my life."

"Wrong. You lost four years of your life, Harry, for something you're innocent of."

"Yes, but I thought I was younger."

"Don't think on it, Harry. You'll get your life back."

Sirius was still speaking, Harry knew, but he suddenly did not want to speak on this subject anymore. He wanted to speak of something that was not painful for _himself_. 

"It will be harder in the long run if you keep speaking of my dad in the present tense, you know, Sirius," Harry interrupted.

Sirius stopped, startled. "What?"

Harry wondered if Sirius had let go of James yet. "He's dead, Sirius." Harry smiled bitterly. "My father is dead and according to the wider world, I killed him."

"I don't think that you killed him."

"It's nice of you to have so much faith in me, Sirius. Really. But, how do you know that I _didn't_ kill him? That I didn't kill mum as well?"

"Because I saw it in your eyes when they took you away, Harry, I saw it. You hadn't even been informed of what had happened yet, and I could see the confusion. And I made sure to be there when they accused you of killing James and Lily, and I saw your eyes again. You were so heart-broken. You were being accused of their murder when you hadn't even known they were dead yet. It didn't seem fair, so I fought. Remus and I fought for you, but nobody would listen."

"How do you know I'm not a good actor?"

The door creaked open and Remus walked in, a brown bag of food in his arms. He did not spare a glance at the kitchen table. "We've known you since you were fifteen minutes old, Harry," Remus said. "We know that you would never do anything that brutal to your parents. You've always had a good relationship with them."

Sirius stood and helped Remus put things away. "Besides that, Harry, James and Lily aren't actually dead, so yes, I will speak of James in the present tense." He tossed a block of cheese into the air before putting it into the Muggle refrigerator. "You were right, Remus," he said over his shoulder, "Harry did see James and I kissing in here that day Harry found out you're a werewolf."

"I told you," Remus muttered. "I've been telling you for nearly twenty years that he saw that."

"_Wait_!" Harry yelled, standing from the table. "I don't _care_ that you and dad kissed. You just bloody well said that mum and dad are still alive! Am I going to get some answers here?"

"Yes, of course, Harry. You will get answers. It's the least you deserve, I believe," Remus acquiesced. "Sit back down, Harry. You sit too, Sirius."

Harry looked from Remus to Sirius. His heart was beating an irregular rhythm against his ribcage, and he thought that it might just jump out. Outside, the sky was slowly being covered with clouds, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Harry hoped it would rain. He hoped that he would be able to go out and run in it. He wished for the story to be told in time for the rain to start. Under the table, his leg fidgeted nervously. 

Remus looked to Sirius and it seemed that the first to speak would be Remus. "Where do you want me to begin, Harry?" he asked. 

Harry swallowed. "At the beginning – when I was arrested. I want to know everything you know."

It was as though he was having an out of body experience and his projection's destination was the past. He could see himself bent over the desk in his office, his past self's hand running through the dishevelled blond hair. 

Past-Draco was reading through paperwork, and Draco thought he remembered what it was. He floated next to his past-self and looked over his shoulder. It was a list of expenses coming up and normally, Draco would not have worried about anything to do with money, but now he had none. Past-Draco suddenly sat up straight with a large intake of breath and Draco suddenly felt himself being sucked inside his past-self. 

He blinked, looking around the room. It was the study Lucius Malfoy had so often used until recently. The calendar on the desk said it was June twenty-seventh, 2001. Draco remembered this day. It was the day the manor had been raided, ransacked, and Draco had been kicked out. 

As if on cue, the door to the study banged open and Aurors streamed in. Draco shot up from his chair and rounded his desk. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. 

"The Minister of Magic has given you an ultimatum, Mr. Malfoy, and you have failed to act appropriately," a tall, black Auror said unsympathetically. "The Malfoy estate is being confiscated by the Ministry of Magic until you have decided to comply."

Draco was sure he felt steam coming from his ears. He stormed to the Auror with murder on his face. "The _Ministry_ has already frozen the Malfoy accounts! Is this how the government sympathizes with wizards who have just lost their entire family? Is this how _Lucius Malfoy's_ son is treated? My father was the best Minister this country has seen in one hundred years, and _this_ is how you repay me after his death?"

"I've already told you, Mr. Malfoy that you have failed to comply with the ultimatum set for you. You will come with us quietly. Your house elves are already packing your things."

"Now see here, I will _not_ be leaving my home. You will drag me kicking and screaming. I have put up with my accounts being frozen, but you will not take the last of my possessions from me. I will not stand for it."

"Very well," the Auror complied. He snapped his fingers and two more Aurors hurried behind Draco and restrained his arms behind his back. Draco struggled fruitlessly. "Take him to the entrance hall."

"What is your name?" Draco demanded. 

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, sir."

The Aurors holding Draco began leading him from the room. Draco struggled and kicked, but they held firm. "Let me go, or you'll regret it!" he screamed at them. They continued through the door. "I'll have your job for this, Shacklebolt!"

"I am just a messenger, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt called back. 

"If they wanted to send a messenger, they should have sent an owl! The Ministry will regret this!"

In the entrance hall, Draco was met by even more Aurors. He had calmed halfway there, but his mind was spinning. He had to think a way out of this. There was nowhere for him and Aida to go…. "Aida!" he screamed suddenly. "Where is my daughter? Get me my daughter!" He began struggling again and very nearly got away. He stumbled to his knees and began to crawl away. The Aurors grabbed him once more and placed him in a binding charm. "Get me Aida or I swear I'll blow off all your bloody heads!" he swore at them. 

Suddenly, Draco heard a loud cry coming from the sitting room. It tore into him and he struggled to move, but he fell to his side. "Daddy!"

"Aida! I'm here, baby. Come here!" he yelled. 

"Daddy! Can't!"

Eye twitching, Draco turned up to the nearest Auror. "Get me my daughter this instant."

"Mr. Malfoy –"

"Get me my daughter and I will go quietly."

A whisper moved along the group of Aurors and within a minute, Draco could hear small footsteps running. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Aida, I'm in the entrance hall. Come here, baby."

He felt the binding spell lift just as he caught sight of his daughter. She was a small girl of two years. She had wispy dark hair that curled at the ends and large grey eyes. Draco thought she looked much like the Malfoys, but some said she looked like her mother. It was the hair that did it, he had decided. 

"Daddy!" she cried and flung herself into his arms. 

Draco felt warmth fill him as he comforted her. She cried into his shoulder and reached up to twirl his hair around her finger. "I want mummy," she sniffled in her small childish voice. Her words were not fully formed, but Draco could understand what she wanted. 

"It's just you and me now, Aida," he whispered. "Remember what I told you about your mummy?" Aida nodded and sniffled some more. Draco felt a sick hope that Aida would not remember her mother in a few years. It would be better that way. 

"Time to go, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt was back. 

Draco nodded and a sudden emptiness filled him as he left the manor. He wondered when he would be back. As he and Aida were taken outside, he thought it ironic that the sky was clear and the sun was happily shining. 

Draco was out of body again and flying somewhere fast. He could not have said how long he had been flying when he finally came to a stop. The stop was so abrupt it knocked the breath out of himself and of the self that he had chosen to inhabit. 

He looked around and decided that he was in the room Pansy had provided him. He was sitting in the middle of a bed which could comfortably sleep ten people. There were pictures spread around him and he had one in particular in his hand. Draco remembered that it had been taken just four days previous. It was of Aida and him. Aida was in a silly mood and Draco was cranky. He wanted nothing more than to burrow himself in the bed Pansy was about to offer. But, somewhere along the way, his daughter's infectious smile and tiny giggle and encouraged him into an equally chipper mood. 

Draco chased Aida around Pansy's ancestral home and ended up in the library where Pansy was sitting. Draco finally caught Aida there and he tickled her until she started hiccupping. In the picture, both Malfoys' cheeks were flushed pink with exertion and happiness. Draco was holding Aida tightly and gave her a kiss on the crown of her head. Picture-Draco murmured, 'I love you,' into her ear and she giggled. The picture started over. 

Draco turned the picture over and began writing on the back. 

_July 2001  
Aida,   
You are the only thing I have in the world, and I could not ask for more. I love you and always will. You're my special little girl. I hope you will understand someday why I am leaving you with Pansy. She will love and care for you. Please heed her and Vincent. This is the only choice I have, but believe me, it's the most difficult decision I've ever made.   
If you ever need me, don't be afraid to owl me. I will answer. Always remember until the day I come back for you that your daddy loves his little girl. Until then.   
Your loving father,   
Draco Malfoy ___

A knock sounded at the door. It was a dull sound in the large room, and he looked up. Pansy entered with a sleeping Aida in her arms. She awkwardly closed the door with her foot and crawled onto the massive bed on her knees and carefully set down her load. 

"She woke from her nap screaming for you," Pansy murmured, pushing back the dark hair on the girl's forehead. "I told her I'd bring her to you and she immediately fell back to sleep. I hope it's okay."

"Of course," Draco replied. With a swish of his wand, all the pictures, except the one he had written on were swept to the desk across the room. He stretched out beside his daughter and pulled a small blanket over her. "She wasn't having night terrors again, was she? She's had them at least three times a night since… well, since her mother died."

"No, I think it might have just been a bad dream."

Draco and Pansy sat in silence for a few moments. A crack of lightning sounded throughout the house and lit up the room. It was dark outside, even though it was the afternoon, and the room only had a fire lit. 

"I want you to give her this picture. Make sure she can never lose or destroy it."

Pansy's eyes filled with tears as she took the picture. "You don't have to do this, Draco. It's not necessary."

"Yes, it most certainly is necessary, Pansy. The Ministry wants me, but I'm not going to them. I have to find a way around this."

"Yes, the Ministry does want you, Draco, but you're not some common criminal!" Pansy insisted, wiping her wet cheeks. "They don't have any proof that you've gone mad."

"That's their point. They don't want me to pull a stunt like my mother did. I have to go, Pansy, and I can't take her with me. I'll barely be able to provide for myself, let alone a small child."

"Let me help you."

"No. I have to do this on my own, Pansy."

Pansy climbed from the bed. She pressed her knees against the edge. "Fine, but I think you're making a big mistake, Draco Malfoy. You're lucky Vincent loves children. He can pretend with Aida while you're away."

"I'll never be able to thank you enough, Pansy."

"Don't thank me. You would do the same for me."

Pansy made to leave. "But don't think I won't hunt you down and kill you if you don't come back for that girl. She adores you."

"I promise on my parents' grave."

Pansy nodded, happy with the answer and left. Draco was left to curl up beside Aida. She was breathing softly and her long black eyelashes were brushing her cheeks. "I promise," he whispered, and he closed his eyes to join her in sleep. 

The bed he had found in a dumpster was drenched in his sweat, and he writhed among the dirty sheets. "I promise. I promise," he murmured in his sleep, his brow furrowed sadly. "Aida…"

Behind his eyelids, Aida was waving to him as he was carried away in a carriage. As Draco watched her, a man and a woman stepped up behind her and took her away. Draco screamed for Aida, but the driver of the carriage yelled for him to be quiet. 

"Mr. Malfoy! Stop yelling!"

Draco jerked awake with a gasp. He was being shaken and the bed beneath him was creaking angrily. The room was dark, but a ray of sunlight was shining through the closed window. He looked around blinking. A portly man was standing over him, a frown on his face. 

"Good God, Malfoy, it stinks in here. Do you never wash your things?"

"Joseph!" Draco rasped out and sat up. "I can't afford to wash my laundry. I do the best I can with spells."

"You're living in squalor. Your father would surely be appalled."

"It can't be helped. You know what the Ministry is doing to me."

"Yes, I do know. It's absolutely appalling what the Ministry here in England has come to. I say… when I bought you this place, I never thought you would let it go to complete ruins like this."

"It was already in ruins when I arrived here," Draco muttered. 

"A man in my position cannot go about practicing philanthropy with people who are wanted by the Ministry. It would have been inappropriate for me to buy you anything more."

Draco grimaced as he stood. His muscles felt wiry and were in need of exercise. He stretched out his tense muscles. "I know that, Joseph. I know you're trying to keep the Italian Ministry on good terms with the U.K. Have you heard anything on Aida?"

"No, I haven't." Joseph approached Draco with a kind smile. "Draco, trust that I am doing everything I can to find out where the Ministry placed her. She is my granddaughter and I would like to find her just as much as you. She is all I have left of my daughter."

"She's _all_ I have," Draco murmured. "I haven't seen her in so long, Joseph. I need to see her."

"In good time, Draco, in good time, believe me."

"I do believe you."

"Good, good." Joseph's thick eyebrows drew together. "And now, I'll tell you that I brought you a few more candlesticks. I see you've had yours down to the wick. There's also a picnic lunch my elf prepared for you. And…" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small pouch. "Here are ten galleons to last you the two weeks until our next meeting." He threw them onto the sagging bed. "I must tell you that this is getting quite tiresome for me, Draco. My generosity may only be stretched so far. Are you any further along in getting your life straightened out?"

"I know you're getting tired of this, Joseph. I am too. I appreciate all the help you've given me. One day, I'll pay you back for your charity, but at the moment… things have been put on hold. With Harry Potter on the loose again, the Ministry is more concerned with him, than what sort of problems they have with me."

Joseph turned on his foot. "Yes, Potter is causing everybody a headache. I thought his escape might be hindering your progress. So, Draco, I've come to the conclusion that you need to find a job."

"But, I have a job."

"A _real_ job, Malfoy," Joseph snapped. "Writing is not a respectable career choice, especially when your first book sold a grand total of ten."

"It sold more than that," Draco muttered. 

"You cannot tell me that it was anything more impressive than that. You will get a job and hold it, or my generosity ends. You might just have to face that things will never get back to normal. It's time you start building a life for yourself here."

"No, I won't settle for that. The Ministry has taken my entire life away and I won't stand for it. I'm taking my life back from them, whether they like it or not."

The two men stared each other down. "Suit yourself. Either way, Malfoy, get a job or my generous charity to you will end before you can say 'I want Aida back'."

Draco jumped as Joseph Disapparated with a loud crack. He sunk back down to his bed, feeling his body begin to protest against the small movement. In the kitchen, the Muggle refrigerator began whirring reminding him that there was nothing in it to cool. He thought of the picnic lunch Joseph brought and suddenly wanted to throw up the meagre contents of his stomach. 

Draco dropped his head in his hands. "What am I going to do?" 


End file.
